


an imperial wedding

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Series: the wedding [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored 2, F/F, Fluff, Girl Wyman (Dishonored), Post-Death of the Outsider (No Spoilers), Post-Low Chaos Ending, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12503984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: This was to be the first imperial wedding in over four decades, of course it was bound to draw some drama, but the ceremony wasn’t for ten months, and Emily’s already heard more chatter about herself than she’d heard in almost all the years previous combined—including during Delilah’s reign.





	an imperial wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Completely, absolutely self-indulgent. You can find references for everything I'm talking about when I mention clothes or jewelry in the end notes. 
> 
> There's a timestamp for this about Billie, the Outsider, and Corvo to be posted as a sequel in a bit!

The Mark won’t cover with any amount of makeup that Emily applies—and she has tried, certainly.

It just means she’ll need gloves for the wedding, another thing to add to the seemingly infinite list of to-dos and to-gets for the ceremony, and probably will cause gossip for months to come. She might have to let Rebecca or another one of the maids catch her wrapping a bandage over her hand before putting her gloves on, restart the rumors that she was hiding some old injury.

The first royal wedding in over four decades, of course it was bound to draw some drama, but the ceremony wasn’t for ten months, and Emily’s already heard more chatter about herself than she’d heard in almost all the years previous combined—including during Delilah’s reign.

_Where was the Empress to be married? The Empress did attend weekly Stricture services at the Dunwall chapel, so why not there? But Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin had wedded in the Tower gardens, and the ceremony was scheduled for the Month of Songs, so an outdoor ceremony would be lovely. Perhaps the rumor that someone’s brother who happened to be an Overseer had heard was right, and the Empress would make the pilgrimage to Whitecliff at the heart of the Abbey to be wedded._

_What was the Empress to wear? A suit, or a dress? The Empress rarely wore dresses, like her mother before her, but she’d worn a striking black gown at her thirtieth birthday party, hadn’t she? Would she wear traditional red, or something different? Her mother had never been fond of jewelry, but the Empress did enjoy wearing some of the crown jewels occasionally, so perhaps she’d wear a tiara. The Tyvian Floral tiara had been worn as a hair comb on a few occasions by Empress Jessamine and would be a strong choice, in remembrance of her mother. Or the Diamond Bandeau Tiara, which had been a gift from the High King of Morley to the Empress on her sixteenth birthday, but she also had the Cullero Lover’s Knot Tiara that had been given to her by the United Serkonan Miners—_

Truthfully, it all drove Emily mad. She could understand why her mother never married (beyond the fact that a wedding to the son of a lumbermill worker from Serkonos would have been an entirely new scandal); the entire thing was a headache she barely wanted. Picking place settings and choosing menus—Void, if Wyman wasn’t there to make quiet snarky comments under her breath at every opportunity during their planning sessions, Emily would have completely lost it by now.

Emily slams her makeup box closed with a little more force than necessary and snatches her gloves off the dresser. Because of the extra scrutiny at court, she hasn’t even been able to keep up on her nighttime rooftop-creeping routine. She finished her meetings for the night and headed right to bed, too exhausted to consider doing anything fun.

Maybe she’d tell one of her ladies-in-waiting that she wasn’t feeling well and to cancel her appointments for tomorrow morning. She deserves a break, doesn’t she? Surely everyone would understand.

She could hope, at least.

* * *

Red was the traditional color for wedding attire under the Abbey, something about the symbolism of new blood in the family that Emily is sure was covered in one of the services she’s attended at some point.

In Emily’s opinion, the red gown made her look sallow and a bit washed-out, but the maids all cooed over it, over the Watteau back and off-the-shoulder sleeves and what felt like twelve pounds of glass beads (gifted, of course, from the Tyvian Princely Family).

The maids had done even more cooing when Emily opened the Tower vault and laid out the heavy velvet-lined boxes that held her collection of the Imperial jewels. Of course she’d wear the Festoon Tiara (presented to her on her tenth birthday as a gift from her mother), of course she’d wear the black sash of the Kaldwin Order with the Imperial Family Order brooch (with the miniature portrait of Euhorn Kaldwin I the jeweler had painted in its frame) and the Olaskir obsidian brooch (her mother’s favorite jewelry piece) pinned at the intersection of the sash. But the bracelets, the earrings—that was all something Emily was going to have to trust her maids to help her pick out, because Outsider knows that if she’d had her way the look would be more leather boots than beaded satin slippers.

“Oh, you look lovely,” Anna sighs, clasping a diamond bracelet on Emily’s right wrist. “I’m sure Her Grace will love it.”

Emily eyes her reflection in the full-length mirror. She doesn’t look… bad, exactly. She smooths the tulle overskirt of her gown, and if she steels herself into silvergraph-ready posture, she almost looks… quite striking. Maybe a bit more angular than is fashionable in Gristol, and certainly a few inches too tall for style, but she feels… regal. Like a true Empress, and not an imposter.

She laughs. Void, she’s getting carried away. Emily glances at the boxes of jewelry, neatly stacked on every available surface in her dressing room.

“Please have the Imperial jeweler called for tomorrow, please. Wyman will be coming in for her own fittings, and I want to have a surprise for her.” Emily toes off the ridiculous red shoes that had been dyed to match her gown and smiles.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Anna whispers something to one of the other maids, who scurries off down the hallway. “Shall we help you get undressed, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, thank you.”

* * *

“You really don’t have to.” Wyman wrinkles her nose as Emily sets the jewelry box down on the dressing table, in front of where Wyman sits.

Emily opens the box with a small smile.

Wyman is silent for a moment, staring at the tiara inside, mouth opening and closing wordlessly a few times before she finds her voice. “Emily, this is… This was your mother’s…”

Emily nods and plucks the heavy golden floral tiara out of the case. “It belongs to the Imperial ruling family. But… It was her favorite, yes. It belonged to Larisa Olaskir, but my mother had it broken down into a hair comb and brooches. I had the jeweler reassemble it.”

Gently, Emily picks the tiara up, and slides the band onto Wyman’s head. The tiara sits like a wreath of golden leaves and diamond flowers in her tightly curled hair. Emily presses a kiss to Wyman’s temple.

“Presenting Her Imperial Highness, Princess Consort Wyman Aldus Kaldwin,” Emily whispers. “Duchess of Whitecliff, fiancée of Her Imperial Majesty the Empress of the Isles, Emily Kaldwin, first of her name.”

Wyman laughs and tears her gaze away from the mirror. “Thank you, Emily. I’ll wear it with honor.” Her brown eyes sparkle with laughter. “Now, I’m quite certain there’s something about bad luck and seeing your bride in her wedding outfit before you’re wedded.”

Emily clutches dramatically at her chest, rising to her feet. “I can’t believe you’d kick me out, Your Grace.”

“Nobody could kick you out of anywhere you genuinely wanted to be, I’m sure,” Wyman says, rising to her feet to where a silk dress-cover hung over a gown. “Except I’m sure Lord Attano is dying for lunch with Your Majesty, seeing as how you were scheduled to eat with him at eleven and it’s noon now.”

Emily blanches and jumps to the door.

“Love you,” Wyman calls after her, laughing as the maids spring into action, tugging the cover off of her dress and gently setting the tiara back in its case.

“Love you too!” Emily shouts back, scurrying down the hall.

* * *

In all the years that Emily can remember, never once has Corvo cried in front of her. He’d expressed sadness, grief, exhaustion in front of her, of course, but he’d never cried.

Now, looking Emily over before she enters the Abbey chapel, Corvo cries for the first time.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, voice rough with tears, as he settles his hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Wyman is lucky to have you.”

Emily nods, tugging her father into a hug by the lapels of his coat. “I love you, Corvo.”

“She’d be proud of the Empress you’ve become, you know. Your mother.” Corvo gently swipes his thumb over her cheekbone. “I’m proud of you.”

Emily smiles, straightening her posture. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?” The Overseer’s mask glints in the dim lamplight of the chapel waiting room, hand on the door handle.

Emily nods, clasping her hands together. “Of course.”

* * *

“Presenting Her Imperial Majesty, Empress of the Isles, Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, first of her name, and Her Imperial Highness, Princess Consort Wyman Aldus Kaldwin, Duchess of Whitecliff.”

Emily held her smile for the silvergraph, hand on top of Wyman’s. Outsider’s eyes, her feet ache in these impractical little shoes, but she glances over at Wyman and she feels her heart skip a beat. _Her wife_ , in her mother’s crown, in the black sash of the Kaldwin Order over her own red gown. Her wife, expression regal and composed, even as Emily clutches at Wyman’s hand like she hasn’t been Empress for most of her life and wasn’t used to the feeling of hundreds of people staring at her.

Wyman grins as they pace their way up to their seats at the head of the table in the reception hall. “Say, Your Majesty,” Wyman mutters quietly.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Emily whispers back, keeping her smile locked into place.

“The minute this feast is done, do you want to run back to our rooms and take these damned shoes off?”

Emily bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a daily prompt challenge I've created for myself on tumblr to get me to write more. Today's prompted started off with [this tiara, the Festoon Tiara from Princess Royal Anne's collection](http://orderofsplendor.blogspot.com/2011/07/tiara-thursday-festoon-tiara.html), but what started with the intention of writing two or three tiara-themed pieces ended up becoming a big fic of its own with a timestamp! 
> 
> The Festoon Tiara can be seen [here.](http://orderofsplendor.blogspot.com/2011/07/tiara-thursday-festoon-tiara.html)  
> The "Tyvian Floral Tiara" (AKA a blend of the hair comb Jessamine is seen wearing and the real Danish Ruby Parure Tiara) can be seen [here](http://orderofsplendor.blogspot.com/2011/12/readers-top-15-tiaras-4-danish-ruby.html).  
> The inspiration for Emily's wedding outfit can be found [here on Queen Letizia of Spain](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d9g3mMK1tTM/WWaKv9frZiI/AAAAAAAAlw8/cfDtTUuPOWwQChMp0QMjqskRLitl6UiwACLcBGAs/s1600/Banquet-1.jpg).  
> Most of the jewelry I mention is based on real-world counterparts, and if you have any questions on what they're based on, let me know and I can tell you!
> 
> talk to me [on tumblr](http://officialclaricestarling.tumblr.com) | [deleted]


End file.
